The American Monday is melancholy. We do so much to build the up the weekend. How could it be anything but, Stormy Monday. I don’t remember this all descending down so hard in China. They have weekends too. Though sometimes the government messes with weekends. They afford the populous seven days off and then say “Saturday is an official back-to-work day.” An intolerable affront, to any religious or secular American, I’d suggest. We all believe in the weekend and something sacred.
This Monday morning I’m sad, not because I have to trudge back down into a coal mine, but rather because Covid 19 has helped to render me redundant and change my life once again, in another small way. Loyal readers know that I’ve been driving my little one to school during the autumn. We do tunes, we talk anime and I’m even allowed to go over Korean history. The school will be going remote next week. And this week my daughter joined many of her classmates and decided to simply take the rest of her classes on line.
I made her a bialy. I’d bought a bag of them at Shoprite. They aren’t the old Kosars bialys from over on Grand St. Nobody's are. They’re not bad for Shoprite bialys. I was looking for French bread on my Friday shop and the gal in the bakery department to look “over there, near the bialys.” So, I bought a bag of eight and this morning I toasted one. Toasted it a bit more. Noticed there was no butter. Nuked some brie. Smushed it on and added a bit of honey and brought them up to her. “Thanks Baba. I got class.”
Now I’m down here drinking my coffee, considering the blue jays and the squirrels who never get a weekend. I consider the Korean text we’d been going through. Outside a remarkable cloud shape like a tremendous whale shark maw stretching for fifty miles is slowly swallowing the Shawangunks on its way toward the Catskills. Moving slowly from this vantage, it pulls a sheath of darkness over all behind it. There’ll be showers in the early afternoon.
Monday, 11/16/20
No comments:
Post a Comment